


Bass kick swingin' like I'm Bruce Lee

by whiteicelily



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassins & Hitmen, Comic Book Violence, Humor, M/M, Mercenaries, Slow Burn, donghyuck is a badass and he's just trying to protect his balls, no smut but mild spiciness, random cameos, think deadpool pre mutation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25616278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteicelily/pseuds/whiteicelily
Summary: Donghyuck expects it to be easy, given what he saw of Mark’s performance last week. He expects to just be on the lookout for minor adjustments to make and opportunities to drop some encouraging words every once in a while.He never would’ve expected that practicing with Mark today meant putting his life on the line.(Or: when not offering his "special services" for hire, Donghyuck teaches a community self defense class. One day, he gets a very special student).
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 29
Kudos: 157





	Bass kick swingin' like I'm Bruce Lee

**Author's Note:**

> \- PLEASE READ: Donghyuck in this fic is a mercenary - think Deadpool pre-mutation aka Wade Wilson / Ryan Reynolds the first five minutes of the movie. It is mentioned explicitly that he has killed people before, will be killing people in this fic (no one you should care about dw), and will continue to do so in the future. I personally don’t think the scenes are overly graphic and they’re definitely not the focus of this fic but he does get stabby so if that ain’t your scene, totally understand!
> 
> \- There is no smut but it is implied - they are full-grown adults and there is definitely some smexiness going on bts lol but the mature rating is just bc of violence that comes with Donghyuck’s job
> 
> \- Believe it or not everything is based on my personal experience having gone to some actual self defense classes minus the part where I meet the love of my life
> 
> \- This fic was literally supposed to be a fun lil drabble at 5k MAX and then it grew way outta control like why can’t my children ever listen to me??
> 
> \- Re-reading it I realized there’s 0 angst so if you’re looking for a painful good time, this is not it
> 
> \- Don’t take it too seriously like I did lmao
> 
> \- Inspired by Kick It and Joy being the [badass she is](https://youtu.be/2M3SDyMl1bI)

Donghyuck’s phone vibrates.

_Damn. Just when he was getting to the good part._

Using the hand not currently pressing a switchblade into some guy’s throat, he fishes in his back pocket and raises his phone up to squint at the small screen. A new text message blinks back at him, spelling out a short and concise death threat no doubt objectively alarming but to him is just strangely endearing.

Lowering the screen to rest it against the shoulder in his arms, he quickly composes a reply, taking a few extra seconds to hunt for an appropriate emoji.

_A kitchen knife, a sword...aha! A dagger. Close enough, even if his customized red and gold blade is way more stylish than their boring little black-and-white cartoon._

He spams a long string of daggers, middle fingers, and an unexplained eggplant emoji and nearly drops his phone when the shoulder under it jerks, causing his phone to pop out of his hands. He snatches it out of the air in sheer reflex, then glares at the offending body in his arms.

The guy chooses that moment to speak, voice tremulous and hesitant.

“Uh, he-hey man, can we maybe talk this out?” His voice is high-pitched and squeaky, very at odds with the bulky frame it belongs to. “I-I really think you got the wrong guy here.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and sighs. He presses send and drops his phone back in his pocket, readjusting his grip to nestle the blade even tighter. The guy panics, emitting a loud whimper and tries to wrench back, but only succeeds in backing himself closer against Donghyuck’s chest.

“Who...who are you?!” He demands in a high whine, freezing against Donghyuck, He gulps, voice rising in volume. “W-wha-what do you want with me?”

The response he gets is Donghyuck wrapping his free arm firmly around the guy’s waist, roughly tucking him even closer. He snakes his head right against the guy’s shoulder, nudging his cheek against the other’s scruff almost flirtatiously.

There’s a pause. Donghyuck takes a second to savor the moment, letting the tension simmer and basking in the terror he can feel radiating off the body in his arms.

When he does answer, his voice is soft, sweet words dripping like caramelized honey. “I’m Full Sun,” he purrs, nudging his cheek even closer, exhaling slowly. He tilts the other’s head up gently, slowly. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down the guy’s jaw, gross. “And it’s time for you to get some vitamin D.”

His wrist moves in one smooth motion, and the body goes limp in his arms.

“Oops,” Donghyuck simpers, loosening his hold and letting the body crumple heavily to the ground. He squats down to admire his work, head tilting to the side. “Guess I should’ve told you what the ‘D’ stands for.”

There’s a loud buzzing again, rattling angrily from his back pocket.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, jerking up to pocket his knife and sprinting across the room to hop up into the open window, squeezing himself through. “Can’t even celebrate a job well done.”

He swings nimbly onto the fire escape and drops gracefully onto the pavement below, taking off into the night.

He really hates working overtime.

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

“You’re late.”

“I was working overtime.”

“If you were actually good at your job, you wouldn’t need to.”

“Hey, I am _great_ at my job. I am a _professional_. The guy had reinforcements!”

“Gang leader?”

“Sex trafficker.”

“Security detail?”

“Yeah. There was a cat. It was mean.”

“Would it kill you to act like your age?”

“Would it kill you to be more like your name?”

Joy folds her arms and glares at him, unimpressed. “Trust me, you don’t want to see me live up to my name.”

This is true. It’s obvious that Joy is not her real name. The word got attached to her when she first started making a name (ha) for herself in their business, and rumors spread that a mysterious beauty with raven hair and blood-red lips was slicing up wrongdoers with a smile.

Donghyuck had no clue whether the rumors were true or not, but Joy _does_ always look immaculate in her trademark bright red lipstick so he figures it’s better to be safe than sorry. That’s why he’d hidden his switchblade up his sleeve for months. But now that it’s been several years (3, to be exact) working with, talking to, and generally annoying the shit out of her - both intentionally and by just existing - he finds that he’s still alive and figures that if she hasn’t offed him yet, chances are she’s not likely to do so, at least anytime soon.

The switchblade has since moved to an inner pocket, harder to reach but allows him to pop a squat comfortably.

Still, he pivots, just in case today is not his lucky day. “Today is about learning how to get out of chokeholds, right?” he asks loudly, hoping to distract her with sheer volume. Then his eyes widen as a thought suddenly hits him, a smirk taking over his face. “Let’s not keep our ‘captive’ audience waiting then.”

That elicits a roll of the eyes, and Donghyuck can almost hear the groan in her head, but he sees the edges of her eyes crinkle unwillingly as she waves exasperatedly for Donghyuck to get moving. “People clearly don’t hire you for your brain” she bites fondly as she nearly pushes him in, following up with a low mutter of “why I asked you to come back that first week, I will never know.”

Donghyuck grins, skipping in to survey the room they’ve just entered.

Their studio is not particularly big by any means, able to be cooled comfortably with only one air con unit. It’s located on the second floor of a nondescript apartment building, up a rickety set of stairs and sandwiched between several mom-and-pop coffee shops on a street lined with twisting alleyways and brickstone buildings that look like they’ve been around for hundreds of years. The area is objectively old and dated, but the low-frills, artsy vibe of the deteriorating walls and small spaces attracts crowds of hipsters and college students to the area, making for a lively nightlife.

Like the rest of the unassuming storefronts, their little studio is easy to miss if you’re not looking for it. They don’t invest in advertising, so people really only know of them through word-of-mouth. In fact, the only indication that there’s even something upstairs is a simple, black and white sign taped to the outside of the door at the bottom of the stairs.

Despite the low-key setup and nonexistent marketing, there’s always a sizable turnout each week filling the room to near capacity.

It’s in this small space that Donghyuck has been volunteering his time, precious time that he could otherwise be using to Netflix-and-chicken-and-beer or downing actual beer at the seedy corner joint served by a high-pitched bartender who specializes in mixing the liquid version of mystery meat.

But no, instead of living it up after work with binge-watching or booze like a normal 20-something year old, he dedicates his Tuesday evenings subjecting himself to a room full of randos wanting to learn self-defense.

The class is free, open to all skill levels and doesn’t require pre-registration, so objectively it shouldn’t be too serious. With Donghyuck and Joy teaching, however, Joy being a hard-ass and Donghyuck being a show-off in general, the students probably get more than they bargain for when they show up for the first time.

Nevermind the fact that the instructors are also both renowned master mercenaries in the underworld.

Today the turnout is sizable as well, Donghyuck notes, as he surveys the students clustered randomly around the room. There’s a group of ten at the front, regulars who show up week after week. Some have been coming so long that they’ve formed cliques, chatting happily with each other as they wait for class to begin. Others have told Donghyuck that the class has made a difference in their lives, either physically or mentally or both, and attend as a sort of reprieve from daily life.

Joy tells him that one or two of the regulars come back for _him_ , but only smirks conspiratorially when he asks who. Most times he thinks she’s just bullshitting him but the occasional prickling at the back of his neck and random questions about his personal life makes him side-eye her once in a while. Mostly it’s hilarious to think about people idolizing him for his looks without knowing anything about what’s underneath (metaphorically but also literally about all the weapons he’s concealing), so he just lets it be.

The other half are new faces, mostly those who have come once or twice before and a few where today is their first class. Usually it’s people who have been told by their friends, or passerbys on the street who manage to see the sign and are interested in a free workout.

Some of the new folks are currently making awkward introductions and chatting. Others keep to themselves, eyes darting around nervously.

Donghyuck automatically nods to the curious and expectant gazes directed his way, body language morphing into the peppy “Haechan” identity he adopts for his civilian life. Joy waves to them from his side, ever the professional actor as well.

They finally reach the front of the room, five minutes after class is scheduled to start. The sea of faces start turning in their direction, chatter dying down in anticipation. Donghyuck feels more than sees Joy waiting expectantly next to him, and he opens his mouth to start his usual greeting when something in his periphery makes him pause.

No, not something - someone. Two of them, in fact.

Standing in the far corner of the room, almost hidden in the shadows where the crappy fluorescent lighting doesn’t reach, are two guys.

Having guys in their class isn’t all that unusual, given that it’s free and open to everybody. At least a third of the students who show up for any given class are guys.

These guys, however, stand out from the usual.

One of them is tall, broad, and well-muscled with sleek brown hair a little bit darker than Donghyuck’s own honey-brown locks. He stands confidently, surveying the room with hooded eyes and hands casually tucked into the pockets of his workout pants. It’s clear from the prominent veins in his arms and (deliberately?) tight shirt that he’s in great shape.

The guy standing next to him on his right is slighter, a little bit shorter but not any less well-built. He has large, wide eyes under a pair of arched eyebrows reminiscent of seagulls taking flight, giving him a perpetually surprised expression. His raven bangs are peppered with streaks of bright golden blond which Donghyuck resents for being pulled off so well.

What really catches his attention, which Donghyuck suspects would be the case for anyone with working eyes, is that both men are unusually handsome, ticking off all the boxes for: big eyes, sharp jawlines, full lips (taller one), and defined cheekbones (shorter one). They’re also dressed in all black from their tight workout tees to their sleek Nike Air Max, clashing with the exposed brick background.

The guys they usually get are either thin and reedy, looking to learn some practical skills to defend themselves on the street, or stocky and solid, avid fans of martial arts who come just to scope the place out.

This pair are too long, leggy, and lean to fit the usual mold; they look like they should be the background of some prepubescent girl’s phone instead of haunting the dark corner of a tiny studio in the (hipster) hood.

The sound of a throat clearing snaps Donghyuck out of his daze, and he looks down to find Joy eyeing him pointedly out of the corner of her eye, impatience momentarily forgotten. “He’s staring at you” she mutters lowly, tilting her chin.

He whips his head back to see that she’s right. The taller guy is still looking around the room, his eyes now roaming up the exposed brick walls lazily, almost bored. His companion, however, has his wide eyes trained right on Donghyuck.

Donghyuck stares back to see if the guy will look away, embarrassed at being caught, but he doesn’t break eye contact. The back of Donghyuck’s neck tingles and he gets the impression that he’s either being sized up or checked out.

Joy snickers under her breath, clearly having reached her own conclusion. “Looks like he likes you.”

An unexplained feeling rises up his chest. “Whatever,” he retorts, tearing his gaze away. He takes one step forward closer to the students and huffs dramatically. “Let’s just get started already. We’re late.”

Ignoring the eye roll he can feel leveled at his back, he adopts his “friendly” grin and addresses the room at large.

“Heya brats, I’m Haechan,” he starts in a bright tone, and thinks he sees a slight movement in the corner, “and no, I don’t care who you are so don’t expect any icebreakers.”

His hand waves dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here to teach you how to take care of yourselves, not baby you. Today, me and my number one nemesis-” a few chuckles in the room coupled with a scoff from behind him “-are gonna teach you how to get out of a chokehold.”

He crosses his arms, suddenly adopting a somber tone. “We won’t be taking it easy on you. We _will_ kick your ass, and we will enjoy it. But it’s for a good cause, promise. After all, I always say that the best way to save your own ass - is to learn how to kick others.’”

Donghyuck punctuates his point with a slap to his own ass and steps back, smirking as the regulars erupt into giggles while the newbies look around as though unsure whether to take him seriously or not. Joy releases a long-suffering sigh as she moves forward to take his place at the front, waiting until the noise dies down again before continuing their welcome spiel.

He zones out, having heard the same message often enough now that it’s haunting his dreams, and occasionally jerks his head to nod every few seconds trusting that what’s being said is all motivational and supportive and whatnot.

Finally, after what feels like five microwave minutes, they finish introductions. Donghyuck is still not fully present mentally, but he does perk up when Joy begins introducing the actual concepts that they will be teaching today.

He takes his cue when the crowd starts inching forward in anticipation (regulars) and curiosity (newbies) as Joy beckons Donghyuck to join her at the front again. It’s time for the instructors to demonstrate, and they can always be counted on to put on a show.

Donghyuck has his arms wrapped tightly around Joy’s neck as she narrates the proper way to escape. She tilts her head back slowly, demonstrating how the victim should headbutt the attacker before slamming them over the shoulder, effectively rendering the attacker immobile.

Donghyuck is about to zone out again when she continues droning on about feet placement and positioning when without warning, a hard solid suddenly slams into his face with the force of a bowling ball before he’s flying through the air, pain shooting up his back as he tumbles onto the ground with a loud _oof_. He shakes his head, momentarily stunned, before whipping his head up to see Joy beaming smugly down at him from above.

“That’s for being late,” she mouths, eyes scrunched in mirth, before schooling her face into a neutral expression to ask if anyone has any questions.

 _Just wait,_ he seethes, picking himself up petulantly. _Next week I’m totally gonna wear my steel-toed boots._

Demonstrations often mean either him or Joy becoming glorified punching bags, and they’re both opportunists with a flair for dramatics.

He subtly checks the placement of his switchblade in his pocket as one of the regulars asks a question about how she managed to stay standing while throwing a body bigger than her, Joy answering patiently in painstaking detail.

The two guys from the corner have moved closer with everyone else, but are still standing a little ways away from the general crowd.

Donghyuck notes with interest that the taller guy seems to be transfixed by Joy, gaze heavy unlike the polite attention from the other students as she continues her explanation. He would chalk it up to just another case of regular mortal falling victim to her unearthly beauty but the look in his eyes doesn’t look like overwhelming admiration or adoration like Donghyuck’s seen on so many of their male students before.

In fact, he looks positively terrified, eyes blown and mouth gaping.

Donghyuck’s brows scrunch in confusion. _Huh._

It’s not totally unfathomable if he thinks about it, because despite her best efforts Joy can’t fully mask her inhuman grace and agility when she moves. It’s the same with Donghyuck, but usually their audience just takes it in stride and attributes it to some intense martial arts background. This guy though, this guy is looking at Joy like he’s seeing the devil himself.

When Donghyuck turns to look at his companion, he only gets weirded more.

Speaking of intense gazes, seagull-brows is back to staring at him.

Which doesn’t make sense, since Donghyuck is not actively demonstrating anything at the moment or answering any questions. In fact, he’s literally not doing anything but stand behind Joy, nothing that would be drawing attention to himself right now.

The seconds tick by and he’s about to square up but sadly doesn’t get the chance to assert his dominance because Joy, likely sensing him about to start some shit, chooses that exact moment to step back and grip his arm to announce that it’s time for the practical portion of class.

He deflates at her touch but perks up again at the words. Arguably the most exciting part of class is the time allotted for hands-on practice, where the students partner up with each other to try out the moves they were just shown. It helps them make sure that the students understand and are comfortable with what they’ve learned and also provides a chance for the instructors to give feedback as they circle the studio to make adjustments as necessary.

Everyone moves to pair off at the announcement off, including the two guys in the corner. Donghyuck and Joy start making their way around the room, Joy looking at him pointedly when she sees him distracted again.

It’s not his fault, he reasons. Every time he looks at the corner he somehow keeps locking eyes with seagull-brows dude, and doesn’t that mean the other guy is just as distracted as he is?

Besides, they’re not the only ones distracted. The taller guy is still clearly both transfixed and terrified by Joy, gaze locked on her firmly but drawing into himself whenever she so much as looks in his direction.

So they’ve got a pair of weirdos, alright.

Donghyuck thinks that the two will need a lot of help given how they can’t seem to keep their eyes to themselves, so he waits for the right opening to make his way over. He waits and helps other students in the meantime, but minutes go by and when he eventually remembers to look back at the pair he finds that they’ve finally moved on from their respective impromptu staring contests.

Contrary to his expectations, they’re actually focused on practicing and now blend in with every other pair in the room. Even from a technical standpoint, he can’t see any reason to intervene. They’re as good as any amateurs could hope to be, maybe even better seeing as how they seem to be having no problems executing the moves.

As he watches, seagull-brows easily hoists the taller guy across his shoulders and tosses him onto the floor, giggling heartily as his partner moans from his sprawled position on the ground.

Donghyuck monitors them for another minute but there are clearly no issues aside from the taller guy now trying to trip seagull-brows from the ground, so he shrugs and goes back to making his rounds around the room.

He quickly becomes so sidetracked floating from pair to pair offering feedback about stance corrections and fixing positions that he doesn’t get to survey the pair again, and before he knows it Joy is cupping her hands to her mouth and loudly announcing the end of practice. He makes his way to the front of the room again, where the students have gathered for a short recap before Joy launches into her usual spiel of thanks and an open invitation to come back next week.

Everyone shuffles together to throw their hands into a circle and shout _Fighting!_ before dispersing. The students start milling about and gathering their things, some of them enthusiastically recounting the lesson with their friends while others approach Donghyuck and Joy, the room bursting with chaos as people stream about in all directions before funneling out the door.

It takes another ten minutes, but eventually the noise dwindles and the steam steam of people dissipates. Donghyuck finishes speaking to the last student and feels tingling along the back of his neck, looking up just in time to catch a glimpse of black hair disappearing from beyond the door frame.

His eyes linger on the door a little longer, feeling strangely unsettled, before he feels a hard poke to his side.

He looks down to see Joy, perfect eyebrow pointed at him before looking pointedly at the door as well. Her eyes are shining which must mean something, but like a lot of what he’s seen tonight - he doesn’t know what to make of it. His hand twitches to reach for his switchblade as a natural reflex for most of his problems but he knows (in the dusty, rational part of his mind) that some things can’t be figured out through violence, which is honestly terribly unfortunate.

 _Not like it matters anyway_ , he thinks, directing his hand to roughly pinch Joy’s forearm instead before scuttling away from her like an overgrown crab when she whips her head back, dark eyes now shining with murder. _Newbies come and go every week. No use overthinking when chances are, we’ll never see them again._

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

He sees them again.

Well more specifically, he sees half of them - because seagull-brows comes back the next week.

Honestly, the guy’s brows always look like they’re about to take flight from his head. For some reason, he can also hear Joy’s brows raising from clear across the room as they both watch the guy stroll in casually before dropping his stuff in the same corner he and his companion claimed last week.

 _How can eyebrows be so damn expressive_ , Donghyuck thinks darkly, as seagull-brows chooses that exact moment to turn and look straight at him, aforementioned eyebrows raising as well. Donghyuck is torn between staring back and dealing with the other pair of raised eyebrows burning a hole in the side of his head.

_Great, now they’re ganging up on him._

Class can’t start soon enough, and when it does Donghyuck’s traitorous eyes can’t seem to stop shooting surreptitious glances to the corner, betraying him and any self control or professionalism he may claim he has.

Maybe it’s because he’s too obvious in his (interest? attention? obsession?) but the more he spies on the other guy, the more he realizes that something is clearly different this time around.

Obviously, the taller guy is not here. But this simple fact seems to really be affecting seagull-brows, who looks noticeably lost without his counterpart.

For one thing, he steadfastly remains at the edge of the group and doesn’t even shuffle closer like everyone else when it’s demonstration time (during which Donghyuck makes sure to pay Joy back _in full_ for last week, steel boots ftw). When it’s time to partner up for the practice portion of class, he doesn’t make a move to approach any of the other students.

Today’s lesson is about learning how to aim and kick with concentrated force for maximum impact, which involves a prop in a wooden board that one person holds. Needless to say, it’s not a routine which can be practiced alone.

And it just so happens that there’s an odd number of students today.

One by one, the students ask each other to partner up, either shyly (the newbies) or with enthusiasm (the regulars). They disperse to scatter in pairs around the room. Pretty soon, there’s only a lone figure in the corner.

Donghyuck watches all the while, waiting for the guy to ask someone to be his partner as the students pair off. But the guy never does; he just continues standing alone in the corner, watching others move about but not making a move himself. The seconds tick by and the room gets noisy, punctuated with kicking noises, and Donghyuck continues watching - curious to see what the guy will do next.

He is jarred to life with a not-so-subtle pinch on his forearm, followed by a not-so-subtle push from behind.

“Ouch!” he complains to Joy, rubbing his sore forearm, before pouting. “I don’t see why you can’t do it!”

He only gets a dry look in response, and they wage a silent war for a few seconds using only twitching eyebrows and heated gazes and passionate, wild gesturing before he sighs heavily, wordlessly relenting. “Alright alright” he mutters darkly to the smug face in front of him, turning slowly and heading for the corner like a king to the gallows.

“Hey,” he says mildly as he approaches the corner, “you don’t have a partner?”

The guy’s head whips to him so fast it nearly makes Donghyuck twitch for his knife, and he watches in surprise as the expression on the other’s face slowly shifts from shock, to confusion, to realization, before blooming into a bright grin.

“No, I guess not.” The guy shrugs, and there’s an unreadable expression in his eyes. He reaches forward enthusiastically. “I’m Mark, by the way,” he introduces, sticking out his hand.

“Haechan,” Donghyuck offers, slowly taking the offered hand in a handshake, noting how warm and firm the other’s hand is. Mark nods, ducking his head shyly. Donghyuck clears his throat. “I can be your partner, if you want, since we have an odd number of people here today.”

When Mark only smiles, he continues, as though the thought just came to him and is not premeditated at all: “Hey - you’re new here, aren’t you?” He asks innocently. “I thought I saw you here last week with another guy.”

Mark nods again, looking back up with scrunched eyes as though happy that Donghyuck remembers him. “Yeah, my friend and I - Johnny, that was our first class last week.” he explains quickly, before suddenly looking apologetic. “He can’t make it today though.”

Donghyuck doesn’t think it’s his imagination when Mark looks a little behind him when he says that. He wants to turn around to see what Mark is looking at, but he also doesn’t want to divert his attention just yet.

The selfish side of him wins. Donghyuck hums, accepting the answer, before moving on and queuing up another totally-not-premeditated question. “So…” he drawls out, forcing his tone to be light and casual even as he’s bursting with unrestrained curiosity. “What brings you to these classes?”

Mark moves to scratch the back of his neck, clearing his throat. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, but when he does he’s looking to a point slightly above Donghyuck’s head. Donghyuck wonders why he’s so shy all of a sudden when he clearly has no problems with staring. “We heard about the class from a friend of ours,” Mark starts, shrugging slightly, “and decided to check it out as a bonding activity of sorts.”

Donghyuck is about to ask why Mark’s so riled up over what seems like a completely innocuous answer when Mark’s eyes suddenly widen and he snaps his gaze down to stare at Donghyuck in panic. “Not that we came here just for fun and didn’t take it seriously, or anything” he blurts in a rush, hands raising. “Actually, you guys are doing great work here - I really respect it, and that’s why I’m back actually, because, there’s definitely more...things...that I want to get to know, and learn more about” he rambles.

Donghyuck frowns, processing the jumble of words. Mark seems to actually be worried about Donghyuck thinking that Mark is not coming here for the “right reasons” or something, when in reality Donghyuck literally couldn't care less about why a student chooses to show up or not.

Hell, the reason _he_ came the first time was just because he’d happened to pass by the door on the way to the bar around the corner, saw the barebones sign, and thought he’d check it out for a good laugh and maybe even indulge in a bit of roughhousing as pre-game.

Except what was just supposed to be some fun and innocent roughhousing quickly became an all-out war for blood when he accidentally encountered the other deadliest freelance mercenary in the city, masquerading as the gentle instructor with a deceptively-cute name. That night he walked away with a fresh bruise on his ass and a threat to come back next week.

Donghyuck shrugs. He tells Mark that he really couldn’t give a rat’s ass for why he shows up or even whether he shows up at all (“what am I gonna do, sue you for not coming to an optional class out of your own free will?”), and Mark laughs heartily and relaxes his posture as a result.

With less than an hour left and his curiosity sated for now, Donghyuck suggests that they actually get some practice in in the time left and moves to pick up the board at Mark’s feet, gesturing for Mark to kick first. Mark nods, expression determined, before turning to face Donghyuck head-on.

Donghyuck expects it to be easy given what he saw of Mark’s performance last week. He expects to just be on the lookout for minor adjustments to make and opportunities to drop some encouraging words every once in a while.

He never would’ve expected that practicing with Mark today meant putting his life on the line.

The first time Mark kicks, or _tries_ to kick, he misses the board entirely. Chalking it up to a fluke, Donghyuck shrugs off the apology, readjusts his grip, squats down a little lower, and motions for the other boy to try again.

The second time, Donghyuck feels more than sees Mark’s foot flying towards his crotch, and it’s only thanks to his quick reflexes that he’s able to propel himself out of the way. He jerks back, board coming up over his head as he raises his arms to inspect that everything down below is still intact and that he didn’t lose something far too valuable at far too young of an age, breathing a deep sigh of relief when nothing seems to be crushed or missing.

Mark’s eyes widen comically and he rushes to set his foot down, nearly wringing his hands with worry as Donghyuck subtly readjusts himself.

“It’s okay,” he quickly reassures Mark, stopping his fretting. He swears he can hear high-pitched laughter in the background, which he studiously ignores. “It’s hard to get it right the first few times. Let’s just try again, slower, more careful.”

He looks pointedly at Mark and waits until the other boy nods, looking sheepish and like he’s still bursting with apology but also like he doesn’t want to purposely antagonize Donghyuck. He shifts, obediently re-positioning himself into the starting stance Donghyuck demonstrated with Joy earlier, and tries again.

The next dozen tries are less deadly but no less disappointing. The good news is - Donghyuck manages to emerge relatively unscathed. The bad news is - Mark never lands a solid enough kick with enough force behind it to break the board, even when his foot finally manages to make contact.

At first Donghyuck is patient, channeling his inner outer-Joy as he sagely offers words of understanding and encouragement. But after thirty minutes of effort go by with little to no progress and his hands start to hurt from the tension of holding the board straight and far away from his crown jewels, he grows frustrated and more than a little confused.

 _There is no way Mark could be this uncoordinated_ , he thinks dazedly. _He was not this hopeless last week._

Maybe it’s just nerves. Maybe the fact that he’s partnered with the instructor, despite looking to be similar if not nearly equal in age, is screwing with Mark’s head. Or maybe Johnny was helping Mark all throughout practice last week and it wasn’t obvious that Mark is like a newborn baby without him.

Whatever the case, the current setup isn’t working and Donghyuck isn’t willing to put his balls on the line (literally) for another 30 minutes waiting for Mark to make the connection between his brain and the limbs clearly out of his control.

“Here,” he lowers the board and beckons for Mark to hold it, motioning for them to switch places. “I’ll show you the moves again, just for reference. Watch me.” He nudges Mark’s arms and feet into position, painstakingly making sure that the other boy is stable, before moving back to brace his feet and lift his arms, getting into the attacker stance.

Donghyuck twists minutely before launching his right leg up and driving it forward, shooting straight for the center of the board. His foot soars through the air, powerful and exact, perfectly-aligned to break the board in half.

Everything is as it should be except when his foot cleanly makes contact, Mark flinches so hard from behind the board that it drops right out of his hands, leaving his chest exposed. Donghyuck nearly trips and jerks backward hastily to try to stop his forward momentum so that his leg doesn’t drive straight through the other boy.

Floundering for a few seconds in the air before finally catching his balance, Donghyuck breathes an immense sigh of relief. He just knows that Joy would have a hernia if Donghyuck accidentally killed a student, or worse - if he left them alive and hurt and with reasonable motive to sue. Vengeance in the streets they can deal with - a lawsuit (or anything to do with the law, really), they cannot. He straightens up immediately to check if Mark is alright.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Mark is the one to reassure this time, catching Donghyuck’s mildly panicked expression. “I was just a little surprised, but I’m fine. Look! You didn’t hurt me or anything. Here, let’s try again and I promise I’ll be ready this time!” He moves from gesturing emphatically at himself to pick up the board again.

Donghyuck gives him a quick once-over, still doubtful and more than a little paranoid, but it’s true that Mark doesn’t have any visible injuries since Donghyuck did manage to stop his movements in time. A little frazzled, maybe, hair a little messy with golden streaks scattered messily across his scalp, but otherwise fine.

The corner of Mark’s mouth twitches, but it’s gone in a split second and Donghyuck doesn’t know if he just imagined it while recovering from the shock that he nearly took Mark out, in his _civilian_ identity no less. In the spirit of time, he decides to let it all be for now.

“Okay…” Donghyuck says slowly, reluctantly moving into position again. “Let’s try it again, but please, be sure to hold it _firmly_ this time if you don’t want a free trip to the hospital.”

He gets an enthusiastic nod in return. Donghyuck blows out a quick breath, tentatively lifts his leg, and kicks.

Mark doesn’t drop the board again, but he can’t seem to stop flinching whenever Donghyuck makes contact. After a few rounds with painfully mediocre results, Donghyuck tells Mark to extend his arms out so that the board is farther away from the chest in hopes that it’ll make the other boy less nervous, but on the next kick Mark ends up jerking back with his whole body so far that Donghyuck’s leg swings through the empty air and he almost lands in a split on the floor.

Donghyuck is known for many things, and by many names, but flexibility is not one of them. He curses loudly as his knee plonks harshly onto the hard wooden floor and immediately feels a hard slap at the back of his head, jerking around to glower at Joy as she passes behind him like a malevolent ghost.

The string of curses continue as he slowly picks himself back up, but strictly under his breath this time.

They give it a few more gos, switching roles whenever Donghyuck is a second away from whipping out his switchblade, making progress so dismal it may as well be negative. In fact he seriously considers letting Mark kick him in the balls just to have an excuse to run away and maybe scream into the void (the bathroom) for the rest of the time.

Thankfully he’s spared from committing murder or letting himself be willingly castrated when he hears a familiar voice ring around the room.

“Alright everybody!” Joy announces loudly, clapping her hands. “We’ll use the moves again in a later class, so it’s okay if you don’t feel like you’ve got it all down yet. Let Haechan or I know if you have any questions, and as always we hope to see you here again next week!”

She calls everyone together for the ending chant, and with that - class is dismissed.

Donghyuck takes the board from Mark, noting that the other boy looks just as sweaty as he is. His bangs form random black-and-blond clumps across his forehead, and his drenched workout tee, already suspiciously tight, clings sinfully to his chest. Donghyuck knows he should find it disgusting but he can’t seem to keep his eyes from drinking in the hills and valleys of what are clearly defined pecs under the thin black material.

He unconsciously rubs at his own chest, dropping his hands down over his flat stomach and notes how Mark’s eyes grow darker as he watches him.

Donghyuck gulps. “Well, I hope you were able to get something out of this class,” he says, a tad too loudly and sounding way too doubtful. The wooden board sits noticeably heavy in his hand, solid and whole as the other students pick up wood scraps around them to toss away as they make their way out the door.

Mark raises his hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking awkward but oddly self-satisfied. “Yeah, I definitely got something out of it.” He eyes Donghyuck from under his lashes, lips curling into a small smile. “I’m really glad I came back, even though it must’ve been super frustrating for you-”

“I wasn’t frustrated” the response blurts out on instinct, but it sounds flat even to Donghyuck’s own ears and Mark laughs heartily as though he knows Donghyuck doesn’t even believe himself. Donghyuck considers acting indignant to defend his very obvious lie for the sake of keeping up the “professional” facade he should technically be sticking to as an instructor, but Mark is still drowning in his own giggles and Donghyuck strangely doesn’t want to interrupt it.

He waits as the other boy slowly recovers, taking way longer than Donghyuck would’ve expected for only three simple words, and they’re back to just looking at each other. Mark doesn’t look to be in any hurry to leave, standing idly in front of him, and Donghyuck isn’t sure what to say now that wouldn’t be unprofessional.

“It was great to see you again,” Joy says warmly, startling both of them as she suddenly appears at their side. “We’d love to have you come back next week Mark, don’t we, Haechan?” she nearly sings with glee as she slaps Donghyuck’s back, nearly causing him to double over. He huffs and doesn’t ask how she knows Mark’s name - because of course she does.

Donghyuck straightens and readies his glare for full-blast but Mark beats him to it, blinking widely at her sudden appearance before shaking himself slightly and saying empathically, “yeah, I’ll be back for sure” and Donghyuck tries hard to ignore the way his chest tightens at the words. He tries harder to ignore the pinch at his back.

Before he can come up with a response or wait for Joy to embarrass him further, however, Mark is nodding to himself as though agreeing with his last statement and moving to pick up his bag from the floor in the corner, shouldering it gracefully before making his way towards the door.

They watch as he power walks across the room, stopping to pause momentarily at the threshold. Mark grips the strap of his bag in his hands like an enthusiastic pre-schooler, spinning back in place to look directly at Donghyuck.

“See you next week, Haechan,” he yells brightly, uncurling a hand to give a small wave, before turning back around and disappearing out of view. Donghyuck can hear heavy footsteps stomping down the stairs, noise fading as there’s a sound of a door slamming shut at the bottom.

The room is silent for all of two seconds.

Joy grins up at him, her large eyes swimming with mirth. He can feel her practically vibrating with amusement through the hand that is still resting on his back, now gently patting him in a friendly manner. “Had fun?”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he retorts sarcastically, giving her the stink eye. “So much fun. Thanks for all the help today by the way, really professional of you.”

She scoffs. “Please, I was doing you a favor.”

“Watching me get kicked in the balls is not doing me a favor.”

“I’ve just never seen you so passionate!”

“I wouldn’t call escaping certain doom ‘passion.’”

“Oh stop whining, you put yourself in far more dangerous situations everyday, for your _actual job_. Besides, it’ll get better, you have plenty of chances to help him again.”

“He’ll probably realize he’s way out of his depth and stop coming.”

“Something tells me that is not going to be the case, and a woman’s intuition is never wrong.”

“I think you have to be human to qualify.”

Joy’s eyes gleam dangerously, and Donghyuck forces himself to stay firmly rooted even though his entire body is screaming to scramble away in a hasty retreat. Her nails are like little needles, digging into the small of his back.

But then the corners of her lips quirk up, and Donghyuck’s muscles loosen from when they’d unconsciously tensed for a fight, hand already a millimeter closer to his inner pocket where his trusty switchblade is nestled. He blows out a breath when he feels the pressure loosen in the grip on his back, dropping his hands down and looking at her warily.

Joy smirks, her smile a stark contrast of pearly white against cherry red. “You’ll see,” she hums mysteriously, before slapping his back hard.

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

To Joy’s overwhelming smugness and Donghyuck’s heavy dread, Mark shows up again the third week.

Donghyuck sends a panicked look to Joy but she ignores him, head suspiciously cocked in the other direction. Unable to escape the intense gaze burning a hole into the side of his head when it comes time for everyone to partner up, Donghyuck sighs and reluctantly makes his way over to the corner.

He exits class that day frustrated and confused as ever and with a brand new hole in the knee of his 2nd best pair of skinny jeans.

He resolves to wear more expendable clothes from now on.

The fourth week, Mark shows up again. They practice hammer strikes using car keys - or in Mark’s case, his house keys since the boy doesn’t seem to be able to drive despite being of legal age. They stand across from each other, Mark gripping keys in between his fingers, and a small projectile on chains shoots out and nearly smacks Donghyuck in the face when Mark jabs.

He flinches back and reaches up to grip the other boy’s wrist, holding it still to inspect the offending object. It appears to be a tiny transparent watermelon keychain, complete with tiny rhine drawings and fake 3D seed appliques. Raising an eyebrow, he pinches it between his fingers and asks what it is and doesn’t expect the way Mark’s entire face lights up as he clutches the keychain like a precious gem, enthusing for a solid five minutes about the fruit.

Donghyuck watches, amused, as Mark deadass starts to monologue about the wonders of ‘God’s given fruit’ and how he used to look forward to summers just so he could eat as much watermelon as he wanted, even if the weather at his childhood home in Canada never got hot enough to warrant watermelon being a popular summertime treat. Nothing could stop Mark from devouring it whenever he could, requesting to visit the local farmers market at least twice a week starting as early as April growing up before he had to move away.

He is _not_ surprised that Mark is Canadian, given how good the guy is at apologizing. After all, he certainly does it often enough, putting Donghyuck in mortal peril _far_ too often to be a coincidence from an objective perspective; Donghyuck would be inclined to think that Mark has it out for him if not for the wide, innocent eyes boring into his in apology every time a stray limb comes too close to his nether regions for comfort.

He is _this close_ to showing up to class in a jockstrap, but somehow he feels like that would equate to admitting defeat and his unnecessarily competitive ass would never allow that.

Mark is still not done waxing poetic about the wonders of watermelon, and the longer he drones on the stronger the unidentified feeling in Donghyuck’s chest grows. It’s weird because Donghyuck is a man of action, not words, but he finds that he doesn’t mind listening when Mark is saying them, even if they’re about something so ridiculously mundane.

Donghyuck swears he can see stars shining in Mark’s eyes, and he randomly wonders if Mark is this passionate about anything else aside from watermelon, and if so - when exactly he would have stars like this, talking about something.

If he’d ever have them talking about _someone_.

He slaps his own cheeks suddenly, snapping himself out of it and startling Mark, who pauses mid sentence to look at Donghyuck and his steadily reddening cheeks in confusion. Donghyuck doesn’t offer any explanation, merely waving his hands to gesture that Mark should try jabbing at him again. Mark continues to regard him with confusion, eyebrows scrunched, before shrugging slightly and resuming the stance.

Donghyuck never does invest in a jockstrap and also elects to ignore the confusing mix of emotions roiling inside him only on Tuesday evenings, even though both would significantly benefit the preservation of his jewels and sanity.

By the eighth week, Donghyuck has gotten used to partnering up with Mark, making his way over to the corner on instinct even though it’s neither in his best physical nor mental interests. Whenever it’s time to pair off, Mark continues to stand in his corner without making a move to approach anyone else, opting instead to train wide, pleading eyes on Donghyuck from clear across the room.

Donghyuck always gives in, Joy looking endlessly amused at Mark radiating sheer happiness when Donghyuck inevitably pairs up with him, Mark eagerly waiting like a kid staying up for Santa on Christmas Eve.

One day, however, Donghyuck notices that something doesn’t add up when they disperse following the demonstration. He could’ve sworn he counted an even number of students today during their usual introductions, and yet, come time for practice Mark is still standing alone in the corner while everyone else seems to have already paired off.

How can that be? Everyone, including Mark, should be able to have a partner if there is an even number of students in the class. It doesn’t make sense from a numbers perspective since the number of instructors (2) is an even count as well, and so he looks around the room in confusion trying to figure out where his math went wrong or if there is a group of three students by mistake.

It soon dawns on him that there’s no mistake when he realizes Joy is conspicuously missing from his side, catching her hidden away in another corner sparring with a student one-on-one. As if sensing Donghyuck’s heated gaze, she looks up, winks conspiratorially, and flips her shiny curtain of dark hair over her shoulder before moving to make a slight adjustment to the stance of the student in front of her.

Donghyuck feels his eye twitch.

One side of him is fuming with indignation at her ulterior motives, but another (hidden, deeply-buried, traitorous) side is brimming with something entirely different. He curses this side as he slowly makes his way to Mark’s corner, feeling both a familiar and alien warmth overtake him from the back of his neck to his toes as the other boy’s face splits into a radiant grin.

The traitorous side is definitely winning, but he’d rather just blame Joy than admit it to himself.

Except Joy isn’t the only one conspiring against him, as the universe also decides to get in on the fun to force him closer to Mark, literally. It just so happens that the planned lesson for their tenth week together centers around how to get out of a ‘bear-hug’ attack, which seems obvious from the name that hugging of some sort is involved. When getting into position means one of them back-hugging the other, Donghyuck is reminded of his own mortality when he finds himself drawing closer and closer to Mark despite the overwhelming evidence that he should stay far, far away from the other’s unpredictable limbs for the good of his _own_ limbs.

Mark is oddly in control of his limbs today, however, staying relatively well-behaved and posing (as of yet) no danger to Donghyuck or his designer clothing. Donghyuck is lulled into a sense of security the longer he and his clothes are unharmed and gravitates closer to Mark, unconsciously finding ways to close the already nonexistent gap in between them.

He takes his stance in front of the other boy, tucking himself close in preparation for the attack.

He doesn’t need to press his back straight into Mark’s chest, but he does. There should not be a pause before he twists around, but there is. It’s definitely not best practice to bend over when resetting their positions, but man is it worth it to see the flush on Mark’s face.

It’s definitely also not coincidental when they switch positions with Donghyuck in back and he feels hands curling over his where they lay over Mark’s chest. It’s not just clumsiness that causes Mark to nudge his leg back between Donghyuck’s thighs and brush against Donghyuck’s crotch “accidentally” as the other boy turns around.

Donghyuck’s skin burns where Mark touched him and he swallows.

Mark coming anywhere near his nether regions had always been a source of fear, a bright red warning sign screaming _danger, danger, move away!_ This, however, this is new and his mind is ringing with a whole ‘nother set of alarms just as loud but much more self-destructive.

A tiny gasp from somewhere off in the studio causes a whisper of reason to flow back to his brain, and it is with great mental fortitude that he commands his heavy limbs to peel themselves away, holding himself at arm’s length and willing his blood to move anywhere else than where it’s decided to congregate all in the lower pits of his belly. He doesn’t catch the flash in Mark’s eyes as he also takes a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and biting at his bottom lip.

Needless to say that neither of them are very productive for the rest of the time.

By the twelfth week, Donghyuck becomes “Haechan-nie.” Two weeks later, Donghyuck discovers that Mark is actually smart when the latter shows up in an oversized crew neck instead of his standard workout tee, proudly emblazoned with a university emblem. Mark had mentioned in passing that he was a student but it never registered to Donghyuck how close they were to one of the most prestigious schools in the nation.

He doesn’t know why this is surprising to him, but he guesses that it must be because Mark’s helplessness when it comes to anything physical translated into him thinking the boy must be helpless in other areas of his life as well. He wonders why Mark’s limbs are so uncooperative when he clearly has all the right ingredients - a big brain and a bangin’ body - to control them, so he decides to just ask about it one day.

They’re supposed to be practicing groin kicks, but given Mark’s dubious track record when it comes to anything involving one or the other or both, Donghyuck has expressly forbidden him from engaging in any practical practice in favor of the much safer route of just talking through the mechanics instead. After a few minutes of discussing the move in painstaking and frankly unnecessary detail, they run out of content to cover and drop to the floor to wait out the rest of the time.

Mark folds his legs into a pretzel. “I don’t like going to the gym,” he admits, face scrunching like he’s just been told to go to jury duty. “Even if I had the time between studying and my job, it’s just too boring. Sets and repetition don’t do it for me.”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows, surprised. “How do you stay in shape then?” he wonders, poking Mark in the stomach. It feels like he’s poking a brick, damn. “I can’t imagine your clumsy ass being a part of any organized sport, what with you failing over everytime you breathe.”

Mark’s answering smile is way too amused for someone who’s just been insulted, and there’s a twinkle to his eyes, different from the I-love-watermelon sparkle, that makes Donghyuck feel like he’s missing something. “Good genetics, I guess” he offers, and doesn’t elaborate.

Donghyuck harrumphs, not satisfied with the answer but also not surprised by it. The genetic lottery just isn’t fair, as is evidenced by the specimen in front of him. Whatever higher power chiseled cheekbones like _that_ onto the other boy probably just threw in a washboard where his stomach should be to flex on their divine power.

Not that he should really be complaining; he knows that he’s not doing too bad for himself, either, if Mark’s (and some other students’) constant attention is anything to go by. But Donghyuck works hard to be in peak condition - he has to be in top form in order to run faster, fight harder, and generally be better than the people he hunts for work, after all. The looks are just an aftereffect.

It doesn’t stop the warmth from creeping up his neck and cheeks anytime Mark’s eyes linger on him too long, however.

Donghyuck scoffs, assuming an unaffected tone. “A good body but absolutely zero coordination to go with it, absolutely wasted,” he says, and smirks when he gets slapped on the arm with an indignant “hey! I’m absolutely fully capable, you’re just a bad teacher.”

Which of course turns into an all-out tickle war, distracting everyone else in the class with their shrill screams and crying laughter until Joy breezes over to smack them both upside the head.

Mark’s words bounce around in Donghyuck’s head later, watching the other boy walk out the door. He realizes that he probably hasn’t been a good teacher to Mark, hasn’t really felt like a teacher whenever they’re together. Mark isn’t just a student to him, but he’s also not a friend either since they only see each other during class. He wonders why that is and what that makes him, and how he feels about it.

A hard pinch unceremoniously yanks him out of his thoughts.

“Ouch!” He exclaims, rubbing at the quickly-reddening spot on his upper arm. “Stop bullying your favorite colleague.”

“You’re my _only_ colleague. Now stop looking so constipated and go home!”

Donghyuck stops counting the weeks. He guesses they’re somewhere in the fifteen to seventeen mark (ha), but the other boy doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop coming anytime soon so Donghyuck has started to accept Mark’s cheery greetings and soft touches and lingering glances as the norm.

Even Joy gets used to Mark being around all the time, Mark staying later and later after class until he usurps Joy’s dubious position as the last person to be with Donghyuck before he leaves. When class ends and Mark again shows no signs of leaving anytime soon, Joy approaches them to pat Mark on the back good-naturedly before playfully whacking Donghyuck on the back of the head and bouncing out the door, implicitly trusting them to lock up. Mark dissolves in laughter as Donghyuck petulantly rubs at his hair, glowering at the door.

The weeks continue to pass, and they continue to make the most of their time together in class. It’s a weird dance they’ve got going on, always orbiting too close to each other but walking away like the loosening of a knot at the top of the hour every week, twisting back together the next week like no time had passed at all.

The warmth in his belly doesn’t go away, and neither does the intensity in Mark’s eyes. The attraction between them is almost tangible, a current running strong and forceful that strains to bring them closer together, for longer, and much tighter. Donghyuck can feel his chest tighten and his fingers itch with the pressure to do something, heart beating in anticipation for something to happen, an exciting and frightening sensation.

The touch burns when they make contact, and the loss is deafening when they part at the end of the night each week. Their eyes, hands, voices seek each other out, reveling when they find the other, but it’s not enough, never enough.

Donghyuck waits for something to happen, something that will either douse the sparks or maybe ignite them, but it never comes. And he’s partly to blame for it.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to mess up their dynamic, which they’ve painstakingly built up week after week and transitioned from frustration to fondness, genuinely enjoying being in the other’s presence. Maybe it’s because he’s still technically a teacher, even if their class is highly unorthodox in more ways than one, and Mark is his student, and teacher-student relationships only really work (and are encouraged) in bad pornos.

Maybe it’s the nagging feeling that even though he feels like he _knows_ Mark, the harsh reality is that he doesn’t really know all that much about the other boy, objectively-speaking. He only sees Mark for a few hours a week, surrounded by a dozen other people. He has a name, a school, a childhood home and a favorite fruit/downright passion - and that’s about it. No family, no friends (except for that tall guy in that first class), and certainly no contact information. Their class doesn’t require pre-registration, and Mark doesn’t offer it himself. Donghyuck doesn’t ask for it.

He tells himself that he’s okay with what they have. More than that, though, he doesn’t know how to go forward beyond it. Mark’s presence makes him feel comfortable, secure, and content, not unlike the switchblade he carries. He wishes he could pocket Mark and have him by his side every hour of the day, instead of being limited to only one dose per week.

Actually, maybe it’s more accurate to say that Mark is like crack cocaine.

He certainly feels like he’s high when he’s with the other boy, either that or he’s on the brink of a stroke whenever Mark does literally anything - from nearly kow-towing on the floor when he nearly hits Donghyuck in the ribs with a kettlebell _again_ or squeaking loudly after tripping on flat ground _again_ or laughing too big when Joy pinches Donghyuck on the forearm _again_.

Donghyuck nearly slams into the doorframe when Mark’s eyes crinkle happily, a tiny dimple popping out when he locks eyes with Donghyuck as he makes his way in.

 _Life was a lot easier,_ Donghyuck thinks as his heartbeat picks up traitorously, watching Mark beam at him like a plant in the sun, _back when I wanted you nowhere near my balls._

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

Wide eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a disarming smile haunt his vision as he viciously carves his switchblade into a man’s chest.

They’re in a suspiciously-ornate office in an otherwise rundown prison facility, and Donghyuck harshly jerks his switchblade back and watches as the man collapses, violently hacking up blood on the plush beige carpeting. Shaking his head rapidly, he clenches his fist and tries to clear the sudden images from his clearly-distracted brain.

The room and situation could not be more different but today’s target just so happens to have streaks in his hair, which brings up thoughts _very_ inappropriate for this time and place. This guy’s streaks aren’t even golden blond, like spun silk - they’re a putrid, dull shade of rotting-banana yellow hanging over beady eyes and sallow cheeks.

Can he chill literally ever.

“Come on, you’re a professional, get it together,” Donghyuck mutters to himself, slapping his own cheeks forgetting that he’s holding a knife and then recoiling in disgust when he feels wet blood droplets splatter all over his face.

Wiping the back of his hands down his face and then onto his jeans, he huffs out a sigh and gingerly crouches down to prod at the body still sputtering on the ground.

“Who-who are you?” the man wheezes at the touch, clutching at his chest in a futile attempt to stem the steady stream of blood pouring out between his fingers.

Donghyuck spins his knife lazily, twirling it around in his fingers. “Full Sun” he hums, then smirks, thrusting his hand out near the man’s throat. “If you know my name, it means you’re about to die-”

He’s interrupted before he even finishes, the man’s eyes suddenly bulging comically as he lifts his hand from his chest to point angrily at Donghyuck, straining to lift himself up.

“YOU” he spits contemptuously, little droplets of blood spraying out of his mouth. “FUCK YOU, YOU SELF-RITEOUS SON OF A BI-”

Donghyuck flicks out his wrist in one smooth motion, a resulting thud echoing heavily through the room. He’s definitely no stranger to strong emotions from targets, and has been on the receiving end of more curses and insults than he can count. What surprised him was that this man seemed to have some sort of vitriol reaction to hearing his self-adopted mercenary name, which is unusual because Donghyuck only gives out the name to people when he’s about to kill them. Unlike Joy, who goes by one name to friends and foe alike, Donghyuck is referred to by a variety of names in the underworld but only the dead know the name he’s given himself.

Chalking up the man’s strange reaction to sudden insanity at death’s door, he busies himself wiping the gore from his switchblade off onto the soiled carpet. Thoughts of gentle hands, soft hair, and tight shirts come unbidden to his mind again as he finishes cleanup and gathers his things.

 _You’re a professional_ he stubbornly recites again as he feels a telltale warmth overtake the slowly receding adrenaline, hopping up onto the window ledge. _Get it together._

And then he leaps.

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

He really needs to start blocking out Tuesdays on his availability schedule - it seems to be when his clients have the most time on their hands, which means more work for him.

Which means one assignment running into another which means Donghyuck running like Sonic through the streets now, pointedly ignoring the angry buzzing in his back pocket. Not like it’ll make a difference if he checks it, anyway. He’s already going at top speed - which, considering him, is pretty damn fast.

Dashing across the intersection just as the walk signal blinks to a static angry red, he banks left and practically flies past an old apartment building to land in the alleyway just beyond it.

It’s a shortcut, one he’d discovered by accident. One random Tuesday after class, with no work the rest of the night and Joy ducking out early for a “girl’s night” with four women equally as unnervingly beautiful as she is (and whom he suspects are also underworld elite), he’d decided to hit up the dingy-looking bar just around the corner. One too many questionable concoctions from an overly-excitable bartender later, he’d stumbled out and wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood before ending up in this alleyway, stumbling through it and finding himself coming out on the other side right back at the studio.

The shortcut is definitely not the most pleasant place to be, the alleyway littered with heaps of soiled garbage and rats the size of his outstretched palm scurrying around everywhere, but it gets him to the studio in nearly half the time.

Every minute counts, especially today since he’d had to go home and change after his last assignment. Work has been getting increasingly messy lately, which may or may not be due to certain distractions and he almost always returns home nowadays looking like he’s just come back from a red-only color run.

Which reminds him, he needs more quarters for laundry. He’s so preoccupied trying to slot in an impromptu bank run into his already busy-schedule that he doesn’t notice he’s not the only living thing in the alley (aside from the rats) until he hears low voices only a few feet in front of him.

Donghyuck skids to a halt, muscles tensing as his body automatically goes into fight mode, hand reaching for his pocket. He focuses his eyes forward and sees a dark mass grouped together directly in front of him.

Despite the single source of light being a lone, struggling lightbulb above what looks to be a dirty backdoor, Donghyuck can just make out enough to determine that it’s a group of four or five men standing in a circle. They’re taking up nearly the full width of the alley, standing around and taking turns shoving at something in front of them.

Not, not something - Donghyuck deduces as he squints his eyes to focus in on what they’re looking at, seeing a glimpse of black hair in between the men. It’s a _someone_ \- there’s a person at the center.

His feet start moving forward. All of his base instincts are screaming that something is wrong, and his honed senses only reinforce it. It’s common sense that one person being ganged up on in a seedy alleyway at night can’t be anything but bad news, and unless they can give him a good reason for looking and being so shady, the men doing the shoving are automatically the enemy in Donghyuck’s mind.

The group doesn’t notice Donghyuck as he creeps closer, with the alleyway being dark as all hell on an already dark evening and the men being so focused on their target. He’s close enough now to catch snippets of the conversation, rising and falling in volume as they continue to antagonize the person at the center of their group.

“...know you, and we know what you’ve done. You’re going to pay for all that our brothers have lost!”

There’s a muttered response, which is too low for Donghyuck to hear but whatever was said was clearly not what the surrounding men wanted.

Donghyuck sees the glint of a blade as the guy nearest to him unearths a knife from his jacket pocket, raising it threateningly.

“You better watch your tongue,” the man snarls, “before I cut it right out.”

Deciding that now is the time to make himself known before the situation can escalate any further, Donghyuck grips tightly onto his own switchblade and strolls forward.

“Hey,” he yells casually, expression nonchalant as he stops just out of reach of the men. He wants to be close enough to unsettle them but not intimidate them, not yet. “What’s going on here?”

The faces in the circle all whip to him, identical looks of surprise mixed with contempt. From what he can see, the men all look to be somewhere in their 30s or 40s - large, surly dudes with seemingly-permanent grimaces on their weathered faces. Their hair is matted and ungroomed, their skin littered with multiple scars that look to be badly healed burns, cuts, and even some bullet wounds.

It only reinforces his gut feeling that it was right to intervene.

The men simply stare at Donghyuck for a few seconds before the one closest to him speaks, still wielding a knife. His voice is guttural and full of derision, a prominent gold tooth glinting in the low light.

“Leave,” he spits, before snorting loudly and actually spitting on the ground at Donghyuck’s feet. “This has nothing to do with you.”

The man’s got a point, and it really would be in anyone’s best interest to leave. But Donghyuck is not just anyone, and he’s also stubborn as hell.

So he stays. Cocking his head, Donghyuck gestures at the sight in front of him. “I don’t think so. A sausage fest in the dark at night? The picture of shady, if you ask me.”

The man’s eyes widen in disbelief before narrowing, as though he can’t believe Donghyuck has the nerve to talk back to him instead of running away like a reasonable person. He slowly turns to face Donghyuck full-on and moves his hand to point the knife right at Donghyuck’s face.

“Look,” he says, voice low and expression menacing. “I’m not going to tell you again. Fuck off pretty boy, or you and your face are gonna regret it.”

“Aw you find me pretty? Well it’d be a crime to rob you of enjoying my face a little long-”

But the amused smile drops right off his face, words abruptly dying on his tongue. He swallows dryly, eyes wide, heart rate picking up in double time as he tries to process what he’s seeing in front of him - what he’s seeing in the slim gap that’s now opened in the circle as the man with the knife slowly takes a step forward.

He’d recognize those distinctive blond streaks, chiseled cheeks, and expressive eyes anywhere. Large, beautiful eyes that transfix him for a few hours one night every week, and haunt his mind in all the time and space in between. Eyes which crackle and shine and melt when they stare into his, gaze fond but focused, always so bright yet achingly soft.

There’s none of that softness in them right now. Now they’re stretched wide, bigger than Donghyuck has ever seen them, openly gawking at Donghyuck.

Donghyuck mirrors the shock, his grip on his switchblade faltering as his mind alternates between deathly stillness and utter chaos as he tries to make sense of what’s happening.

That’s Mark. Undoubtedly, unequivocally Mark - the steady, warm, frustrating (in more ways than one) presence by his side every Tuesday evening. Just like on this Tuesday evening, when they should be in their usual corner sneaking little touches and pretending they’re practicing instead of out in the middle of a street facing off against a glowering squad of mafia-movie rejects.

His Mark, who just so happens to be the most uncoordinated human being he has ever met.

 _Fuck_. Out of all the people who could’ve found themselves in hilariously bad situations like this, of course it would have to be Donghyuck’s best worst student. How ironic that Donghyuck spent the last six months teaching Mark how to fight and defend himself specifically to prepare for situations like this, only for all of it to be of no use given the current odds and Mark’s fatal flaw of anything physical - mostly the latter.

Dammit, he really should’ve spent more time fixing Mark’s form than feeling him up.

Just as soon as the panic creeped it, it recedes, replaced by a wave of calm when his hand brushes against serrated steel. _That’s right_ , he thinks, feeling suddenly ridiculous for his brief mental freak out. _So what if it’s Mark that they’ve got there? Did you forget who you are?_

 _No_ , he smirks as he feels his muscles tensing, fighting instincts kicking in again. _You know exactly who you are, and what you can do. What you have done, and what you will do._

The man is clearly unsettled by Donghyuck’s sudden smirk, head twisting to dart his eyes back and forth between Donghyuck and Mark with distrust. He jerks the knife in his hand, muttering lowly. “Alright” he grumbles, turning back around to regard Donghyuck fully, eyes shining with contempt. Donghyuck tenses, body going rigid like a coil, “I’ve had enough of this bullshit, you should’ve run when you had the chance you prissy son-of-a-bit-”

Donghyuck springs into action, leaping forward and whipping out his switchblade in one smooth motion aiming straight for the man’s throat, raising his arm to counter as the man yells and swings his own knife wildly, before-

-suddenly disappearing from view.

Donghyuck’s switchblade hits empty air and he nearly stumbles, twisting to slow his momentum before stepping lightly to the side to right himself. He doesn’t have time to figure out what just happened, however, because there’s a fist coming straight at him from the left and Donghyuck instinctively throws up his arms to block when the fist is gone, replaced by a Nike-clad foot as it circles in a wide arc to bring the man crashing heavily into the ground.

The foot retracts in a blur, and immediately there’s a sickening crunch and anguished cry. Donghyuck turns to see blood spurting out from another man’s face as he falls back, cradling where his right eye and nose should be as blood drips heavily from between his fingers. There’s a loud snapping sound as another blur causes his leg to bend in a place it should not, the man immediately collapsing into a pile of filth.

A fourth man materializes from the right, rushing forward in a tackle but is suddenly airborne, flying forward a few feet before crashing down on his knee with a distinctive crack.

Donghyuck watches the scene unfold as though in slow motion, body after body crumpling to the ground like broken ragdolls. Beaten with barely a fight, silenced with barely a sound, incapacitated in a matter of seconds.

This is not the work of an amateur.

A click snaps Donghyuck out of his stupor, and he whips his head to the sound to see another man, the last one still standing, slowly pulling his right hand out of an inner jacket pocket to reveal a small black handgun, old and scratched but clearly loaded. His heart beats in double time, the seconds speeding to pass in double speed.

His first instinct is to find Mark, relief short-lived as their eyes lock when he realizes that the other boy is standing between Donghyuck and the man with the gun.

The man is just out of arm’s reach from Mark, but close enough that Donghyuck doesn’t want to risk throwing his knife. There’s not enough time to run, and nowhere to hide in the narrow alleyway cluttered with trash. There’s only Mark, Donghyuck, and the man’s finger quickly closing on the trigger.

Donghyuck isn’t scared, but Mark looks terrified. It’s because they’ve both realized that the man isn’t aiming for Mark, he’s aiming for Donghyuck - gun pointed straight at his face.

Maybe it’s because he’s at death’s door and finally experiencing the infamous insanity that he’s seen overcome so many of his victims before in the last seconds of life, but for some odd reason that he can’t explain, as he stares calmly into the wide eyes he’s gotten to know so well in the last half-year, he feels that whatever happens - things will be alright.

There’s a skull shattering bang, reverberating in the narrow walls of the alley.

But there’s no fall, no crash, no scream of grief. Donghyuck blinks. The man is still just out of arm’s reach from Mark, but Mark is currently standing in a full middle split, long legs paused in a high roundhouse kick that forced the gun up at the last minute, bullet shooting harmlessly up at the sky. Even the man is momentarily stunned, and Mark takes advantage of the pause to surge forward and yank the gun away, twisting his wrist to violently pistol whip it across the man’s face. Donghyuck watches as the body falls, expression neutral as he takes in the unnatural twist in the neck, before looking back up slowly.

Mark is panting hard, ribcage visibly moving up and down as he sweeps his hand roughly through his messy hair. His eyes are wild, but his movements are calm and practiced as he lifts the gun to empty out the chamber, pocketing it before storing the empty gun in another pocket.

He’s no longer making eye contact with Donghyuck, choosing instead to survey the bodies collapsed around him as though making sure they won’t pop up suddenly for a second round.

Donghyuck waits for Mark to acknowledge him, but the other boy seems to be looking anywhere and everywhere else. He waits a few more seconds, but Mark pointedly still doesn’t look his way. He steps closer, no response. He takes another step.

Donghyuck is within arm’s distance when he finally snaps. “What the fuck?!” he exclaims, loud enough to startle even the rats milling around, causing them to dart underneath trash piles.

Mark jerks, but doesn’t respond. His eyes are wide and slightly panicked, having lost the raw wildness permeating them earlier. He winces when Donghyuck closes in and pushes him roughly.

“Okay okay,” Mark blurts hastily, finally making eye contact and inching back a bit when he sees the fire in Donghyuck’s eyes. But then he seems to be at a loss, only uttering a meek “uh, I can explain?”

Now it’s Donghyuck’s turn to have the wild look to his eyes. “You _can_?” he says incredulously, voice dangerously low. “More like you better.” Without warning, his switchblade is out and leveled straight at Mark’s throat. “Explain now, starting with who the fuck you really are.”

Mark yanks his hands up quickly, palms facing Donghyuck placatingly. “I am who I said I am, really,” he pleads, taking another step back as Donghyuck creeps closer, eyes narrowed. “I just didn’t tell you everything, but I’m not a bad guy.” He clears his throat, gaze going soft as he stares imploringly at Donghyuck, tone sincere. “You can trust me, Haechan.”

Donghyuck jerks, the name suddenly bringing him back to the reality of where he is and why he’s here, which had completely slipped his mind due to the unexpected and frankly unbelievable events that just happened in the last however-long-it’s-been minutes. His back pocket is now tellingly silent, which is somehow much more menacing, and he knows that if the shock from tonight doesn't send him to an early grave - the person on the other side of those last texts surely will.

“Fine,” Donghyuck grits, lowering his arm but not letting go of his switchblade. He levels Mark with a heated stare. “You’ll explain everything to me…” he says, stepping closer, bringing his face so close that he can feel the other boy exhale against his lips. Mark’s mouth parts slightly on a gasp, eyes blowing wide at the sudden proximity.

He gulps, eyes darting between the knife still in Donghyuck’s hands and the fire in Donghyuck’s eyes, before dropping his gaze a little lower. His tongue peeks out to lick his lips and he exhales again, Donghyuck’s nose scrunching slightly at the light gust of wind. This close, he can make out a flush creeping its way up the other boy’s face, sitting prettily on his high cheekbones, vivid with hope and expectation.

“...later” Donghyuck finishes, dropping his gaze to step back and pocket his weapon before suddenly twisting around. He doesn’t look back. “For now, we have to go.”

Without another word, he runs off, leaving Mark still frozen at his back.

Donghyuck doesn’t hear anything for the first minute, just the sound of his boots hitting the pavement and the scurry of rats around him, but then there’s the telltale sound of another pair of steps in tandem with his, gaining quickly.

The breathless cry of a name in the air.

He feels his lips curl involuntarily, blood singing with adrenaline and anticipation, as he races forward.

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

Joy is not murderous. She is _disappointed_ \- which is infinitely worse.

She takes a look at their sorry, sweaty states, sighs resignedly, and motions for them to follow.

Mark apologizes profusely as they trail after her into the studio. Donghyuck doesn’t apologize in so many words, but he does pinch her elbow, hard, and is gratified when she slaps his hand away only mildly forcefully. It’s clear that he’ll need to work hard to curry back her favor, but at least he’s still not on her (s)hit list as of yet.

The students look a little confused but altogether not too affected to be starting class a full thirty minutes later than usual.

There’s an even turnout today, and Donghyuck and Joy do their best to explain today’s lesson in half the time, running through a condensed version of showing everyone how to fashion everyday household items into makeshift projectiles. Donghyuck launches a pen while Joy throws a spoon, both hitting dead center in the crudely-drawn target on the wall clear across the room. When they announce that it’s time to practice, Joy walks away to pair up with a student of her own, wordlessly leaving Donghyuck to inevitably make his way to the corner he’s come to know so well.

It quickly becomes clear to everyone that today’s class is different. Not only did they start super late, which is rare even given how much Joy teases and threatens Donghyuck for his tardiness on a regular basis, but the rhythmic thump of objects hitting the target over and over again steals everyone’s attention.

Mark seems to have given up all pretenses - he is a changed man, no longer fumbling and stumbling and generally posing a danger to himself and others. Gone are the wayward limbs straying too close to Donghyuck’s nether regions, the stream of apologies after every move. Gone is the clumsy, harmless fool that Donghyuck thought he knew.

He watches as a pencil, then a chopstick, then a pair of scissors shoots out from Mark’s steady, practiced hands, never missing their target. Watches as Mark is absolutely, fully capable for the first time he’s ever seen in the six months he’s known him.

Watches as Mark watches him back, hands not missing a beat even as they stare into each other’s eyes.

And he’s definitely not the only one watching; half the class has halted practice at this point, staring at them. Joy’s gaze flits between them furiously, eyes sharp and scrutinizing as she regards them like a particularly confusing tennis match.

Donghyuck feels himself heat up, whether it’s from the attention or the intensity in Mark’s gaze or the smooth lines of Mark’s perfect form as he strikes the target over and over - he can’t say.

All that he really knows for sure is that he _really_ can’t wait until class is over.

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

Donghyuck is nearly bowled over the second he steps a foot in the door.

A sonic scream is all the warning he gets before there’s a dark blur launching itself straight into Donghyuck’s chest, wrapping around him like a clingy koala.

“You haven’t been back in forever” it whines, words muffled as it squishes against Donghyuck’s chest. “I missed you so much Channie-bear!”

Donghyuck fondly ruffles the boy’s soft black hair before hesitantly trying to peel himself away, only succeeding in causing the bundle to wrap around him tighter. “Sorry Chenle,” he huffs, trying again to disentangle himself. “I’ve just been busy lately.”

Chenle pouts at him, visibly unhappy and opens his mouth to no doubt complain about it but suddenly stops. His eyebrows raise as he sees the presence still hovering awkwardly in the doorway, and he quickly drops the koala act to hop back and point a finger at the door in surprise. “Oh, you’ve brought a guest!”

Mark steps forward, offering his hand to Chenle, who shakes it up and down enthusiastically, beaming. “Mark,” he offers, before turning to Donghyuck with an amused look. “Channie-bear?” he mouths, eyes shining.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Long story,” he says, before gripping Mark’s elbow and ushering him in hastily. “Make yourself useful, kid” he calls to Chenle, bouncing happily along behind them. “We’ll be here a while.”

The bar around the corner from the studio is, as usual, nearly deserted. A hole-in-the-wall joint with little to no signage just like their studio, people really only know about it through word of mouth. The space is tiny (cozy! Chenle corrects) but cluttered with random momentos reminiscent of an antique store or suburban yard sale amassed from all over the world by the owner, a relatively short man with a nice face and nicer smile who Donghyuck has only ever seen once.

He likes coming here because of the reasonably priced drinks they serve, and is even fonder of the questionably young and suspiciously talented bartender who mixes them. Chenle and his fluorescent, potentially-toxic concoctions (aka rogue lab experiments) taste sweet and fruity and have Donghyuck collapsed under the table after only two of them, but they fit right in with the eccentric vibe of the place.

It’s a mystery how the bar manages to stay alive, but Donghyuck is just glad that it does. He figures it must be due to the regular patronage and generosity of the locals who come to disappear amongst the clutter.

They take a seat in a corner booth and send Chenle off to mix whatever is his special of the night. He comes back after only a few minutes, setting down two glasses with a flourish. Donghyuck watches as neon green wisps sink down to the bottom of a murky brown base, looking like a mini lava lamp, and turns to ask what it is and whether it’s even edible but Chenle has already skipped back to the bar, happily chatting up a wizened old man sitting on a lone stool across the counter.

Donghyuck picks up the olive skewer and bites off the olive, chewing thoughtfully. Well, given how radioactive the drink looks he reckons he has a 50/50 chance of either choking to death or magically sprouting superpowers.

Donghyuck is no stranger to staring likely death in the face, the most recent time being just a few hours ago in that alley. Swallowing the olive, he picks the drink up and takes a huge gulp, exhaling loudly. It burns down his throat and tickles his tongue, a confusing mix of acidic bite and cloying sweetness, but otherwise doesn’t cause any sudden hair growth or increase in size or unexplained anger, so he figures it must be okay. Mark, across from him, does not look so confident, picking his own glass up hesitantly as he stares down at the swirling neon tendrils in distrust.

“So,” Donghyuck starts, watching Mark’s face contort as he takes the teeniest sip imaginable, cheekbones hollowing. He picks up the olive stick and jabs it in Mark’s direction, adopting a somber tone. “Let’s get right into it. Who and what the fuck are you?”

Mark’s face is still scrunched with doubt and distaste, but he doesn’t stop sipping either, as though hoping to acquire the taste like he’s downing a particularly bitter beer. Finally, after only four sips he seems to hit his limit and sets the glass down with defeat, picking at his own olive skewer.

He nibbles at the olive, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. “My name really is Mark. I didn’t lie about that” he starts.

Donghyuck raises his wooden pick higher. “But you’ve lied about other things” he says, a statement, not a question.

“No” Mark denies quickly, swallowing. “Everything I’ve told you about myself is true. I just...didn’t tell you everything.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Everything you told me is true?” he asks skeptically, and Mark nods. “So you’re really a student?”

“Yes,” Mark confirms, nodding again.

“You’re Canadian.”

“Yeah.”

“You hate the gym.”

“It’s true,” Mark grimaces at the thought.

“And you’re the clumsiest fool I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.”

Donghyuck’s eyes narrow. “But you do it on purpose.”

Mark’s eyes widen, then look away. “...yes.”

“So you lied, since you’re not actually helpless. And you don’t need to take self-defense classes.”

“I didn’t lie” Mark refutes fervently, “I never said I was helpless or needed help. You just helped me because you’re a good person.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Right. So if you’re not a lost cause then you’ve been coming every week for the last six months because…”

“Uh well, because I like you a lot.”

Donghyuck pauses, trying to decipher how Mark means that. Mark looks nervous, his eyes trained on the table in front of them, but when Donghyuck doesn’t respond he draws himself up, staring earnestly into Donghyuck’s eyes even as the tips of his ears start to color.

He starts to fidget when a few seconds pass in silence, Donghyuck at a loss for once as he tries to decide how he wants to respond to that. “Alright,” Mark says, setting the skewer down and dropping his hands into his lap, leaning back slightly. “I guess it’ll make more sense if I just start at the beginning.”

And so he explains, starting from the very beginning as Donghyuck sits in silence, still stuck on that last statement. He quickly becomes distracted by Mark’s words, however, as they pour out freely like a stream from a faucet, the other boy’s eyes wide and sincere as he delves into the painstaking detail of who he is and why he’s here and why _they’re_ here.

Donghyuck listens, rapt, as Mark explains. Mark is a student just like he’d said, but he’s also a part-time hitman at an infamous private defense agency. He’d been working for them since a young age, and was transferred to a satellite office when he moved to the city for college.

One day, after just coming off another case, the agency received a hit request to take out what they understood to be another hitman causing trouble in the underworld. They didn’t know much about the target, however, barely anything except for a few grainy surveillance videos which purportedly showed a slim, fit male who favored knives.

After calling in favors to their extensive contacts in the underworld, they were able to get a name, or a portion of it, from the right-hand man of a gang boss accused of multiple counts of child abuse who was taken out by the hitman. “Sun” - that was all the lackey had heard when he saw his boss get brutally murdered in front of him.

Now the agency had a supposed sex and possible name, but nothing else because it seemed whoever was unlucky enough to end up on the target’s hitlist did not live to tell the tale, leaving almost no living witnesses.

Donghyuck frowns. It’s true that he’s thorough and deadly efficient when working, never leaving evidence behind. “How did you track me down, then?” he wonders, brows furrowing.

The corners of Mark’s lips tug up into a small smile. “I was the one who figured it out, actually,” he admits, with a touch of pride. “The agency monitored sudden disappearances and mysterious killings over three months here in the city, trying to pinpoint which could’ve been Sun’s, well, _your_ work. It was clear that the cases had something in common: knife wounds, no weapon at the scene of the crime, no living witnesses. But there was something else, something stronger, that connected these cases together.”

He continues, voice taking on a bit of reverence. “Sun works in the underworld, but he doesn’t work _for_ the underworld. That’s an important distinction. All of the victims, every single one of them, had a lengthy criminal history filled with terrible acts. Heinous acts against humanity. Some prosecuted, some acquitted, but the evidence always irrefutable in their cases, even if the criminal justice system failed to serve them the justice they deserved.”

Mark regards Donghyuck solemnly, a knowing look in his eyes. “They were bad guys. Bad by society standards, worse by human standards. No wonder people wanted the man dead. He wasn’t just causing trouble in the underworld - he was cleaning it up.”

His lips quirk slightly, tone amused. “It’s ironic isn’t it, a killer going after killers. You were doing the work the authorities didn’t have the power or freedom to do, but must’ve wanted to do so badly. That’s why they never tried too hard to track you down, why the cases are all closed prematurely - you have friends on the inside.”

It’s a leading statement, and Donghyuck doesn’t take the bait. Only raises an eyebrow as he waits for Mark to continue.

Mark steeples his hands together, leaning forward excitedly as he shares his revelation. “I realized that this guy, our target, is not a bad guy despite technically doing bad things. He wouldn’t consider himself to be the bad guy, and honestly most people probably wouldn’t either if they knew the facts, knew who the victims were and what the monsters had done to them. It was just a guess at the time - but I had a gut feeling that someone like that, someone like you who was doing bad for good, wouldn’t feel a need to hide. And so I proposed to the agency that you had built a real life somewhere, out of the shadows.”

Donghyuck is mildly impressed and about to interject, but Mark doesn’t pause in his enthusiasm at sharing his discovery.

“Since we had no other leads, the agency agreed for me to act on my hunch, to try to unearth you out in the open since it’d be difficult to predict your next target and catch you on the job. But this city is huge, and we had no starting point, not even an idea of what you look like. We couldn’t very well sit in coffee shops all around the city, waiting for someone of your height and build to show up.”

Chenle floats by their table and Mark hesitates, but the younger boy merely passes to serve a young couple huddled together a few booths down. Mark eyes him warily out of the corner of his eye, waiting until he’s out of earshot again.

“So I went back to analyzing the footage, to see if there were any more clues, no matter how small. But the more I watched, the more I tuned in to each of your individual movements, and the more distracted I became. You’re an amazing fighter Haechan, anyone can see that” Mark enthuses, and Donghyuck can’t help but preen, Mark mirroring the small smile that Donghyuck shoots him. “You make fighting look effortless, elegant even, and that must’ve taken a lot of practice.”

He picks up the olive skewer again, twiddling it between his fingers in thought. “Johnny suggested that we hit up some martial arts studios in the city, just to see if we could identify anyone who moved like you. We attended all kinds of classes for three months, not finding much of anything, but then we heard from another student that there was some sort of class being taught by” he lifts both hands up, making dramatic air quotes, “‘real-life ninjas.’ So of course we went to check that out, and well - here we are.”

“You introduced yourself as ‘Haechan,’” Mark finishes, smirking. “Kinda obvious, don’t you think?”

Donghyuck shrugs, still absorbing everything. He can’t believe that Mark managed to track him down using such a convoluted method based mostly on guesses and luck. “No one’s figured it out so far,” he answers, lowering the skewer stick he’d been leveling at Mark all this time, finally setting it down on the table to pick up his drink instead, taking a hearty gulp.

If he suspends reason, he can see how Mark deadass got lucky and someone found him. It makes sense, in a ridiculous way like a bad sitcom or spy movie.

What doesn’t make sense is that the hitman who said himself that he is out to get him is sitting across from him _explaining_ how he’s out to get him and why instead of, you know, _actually getting him_.

Mark straightens as though he can somehow read Donghyuck’s thoughts, and he quickly shakes his head. “Don’t work, I’m not going to make a move on you. At least, not in that way.”

“Why not?” Donghyuck demands, somehow offended that Mark isn’t even gonna try. If there’s gonna be a hit on his life, he expects nothing less than the best, and a hitman sent from the nation’s most cutthroat private defense agency is pretty damn good. “It’s your job, isn’t it?”

Mark swallows, looking a bit embarrassed. “Uh well, I’m kinda obsessed with you?” Donghyuck’s eyebrows raise to his airline, and Mark rushes to explain. “Not in a creepy way, I swear! I mean, I kinda had to be obsessed with you in the beginning, since I was tracking your every move and everything. But somewhere along the way, it got a little more personal.”

His eyes grow soft. “The more I looked into you, the more invested I became. The concept of a bad guy doing bad for good fascinated me, and I thought - wow! It’s a real life vigilante.” He laughs.

“I fell in love with the idea of ‘Sun,’” he admits, giggles dying down. “I fell in love with the idea of a hero masquerading as a hitman. I wanted to know you for you, not because it was for the job. And so when I finally met you for real, after months of having the idea of you living rent-free in my head, how could I lay a hand on the person who shines even more brightly than I could’ve ever expected?”

“You did lay a hand on me” Donghyuck reminds him, “many times. And very close to vital organs as well, you fool.”

Mark barks a laugh, dissolving in giggles again before slowly composing himself and looking straight into Donghyuck’s eyes. “All for a good cause. So no, the hit is canceled, not like I could even go through with it anyways. You’re too cute to die.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes to cover the rising flush he feels creeping up his neck. “You’re such a sap” he laments dramatically, dropping his face in his hands. “How can you decide to cancel a hit yourself just because you like my face?”

“I like everything about you, not just your face. Besides…” Mark shrugs. “You were the one who canceled the contract.”

Donghyuck stares, a blank look on his face, but Mark doesn’t elaborate. “Huh?”

Mark shrugs again. “Yeah, you killed him like a month ago” he says nonchalantly, like he’s discussing the weather. “Some prison head? You went after one of his business partners a year ago. He contracted us to get rid of you before you could go after any more of his clients, but he’s dead now, and so is the hit.”

Donghyuck’s mind spins, distantly registering cushy carpeting and a man foaming at the mouth, spitting curses at him. How ironic - he’d killed the man who’d hired a hitman to kill him, and now that man is dead and he’s sitting here having a drink with his would-be killer. The (under)world works in strange ways. “But wait, how do I know that you or someone from your agency won’t try to kill me later?”

Mark smiles. “We have a strict one-contract policy per target; that way we don’t step on each other’s toes. Besides, it’s part of our marketing - we’re known as one-hit wonders.”

Donghyuck scoffs, nearly rolling his eyes. He can’t believe he’s found someone as corny as he is. “You’re such a sap, _and_ corny as hell. And also way too confident. You wouldn’t have succeeded anyways” he taunts, crossing his arms haughtily.

Now it’s Mark’s turn to scoff. “Sure, Haechan,” he says, spreading his hands out placatingly.

Donghyuck narrows his eyes, nothing if not competitive. “Fine” he says, slapping his hands down onto the table suddenly, bracing himself. “Fight me.”

“What? Why?”

“You said I’m an amazing fighter, let me prove it to you.”

Mark also narrows his eyes, raising a single eyebrow as he scrutinizes Donghyuck, “and what do I get out of it, exactly?”

Donghyuck is careful to keep his expression neutral, face betraying nothing. “You win me over, you get me” he says simply, watching the other boy’s reaction.

Mark’s face twists with confusion. “What does that mean?”

“It’s self-explanatory.”

“I still don’t get it...” Mark hedges.

Donghyuck smirks. “You will, don’t worry.”

Mark purses his lips, looking doubtful. “And what happens if you win?”

Donghyuck sucks in a breath, blowing it out steadily. “If I win the fight, you can never come back to the studio again” he asserts, heart panging when he sees Mark’s face drop.”

“Oh,” Mark mutters, crestfallen.

“As my student.”

Mark perks up, peering at Donghyuck curiously, but Donghyuck is unmoved. He’s taking a page from Joy’s book, for this, and he hopes that it’ll pay off.

Mark chews on his bottom lip, mauling it over for a few seconds before visibly deciding to hell with it and throwing his hand out. “It’s a deal,” he says.

They shake on it, grips warm and firm, and Mark watches as Donghyuck casually picks up his drink again. “So...when are we doing this?”

Donghyuck tips his head back and gulps the rest of his drink down in one go, sighing contentedly before slamming the glass on the table. “Now,” he exclaims, waving his hand at Chenle to ring them up.

Mark watches as the young bartender starts making his way towards them, cheery grin on his face shining brightly in the dim lighting. He looks down at his own drink, barely touched, visibly contemplating whether to finish it before seemingly giving up. “Now?”

“Now.”

“Where?”

Donghyuck smiles conspiratorially. “Where else?”

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

The alleyway is empty when they return to it, devoid of life except for the permanent pitter patter of rats. No sign of the events from earlier in the evening.

Donghyuck frowns. He’s almost half-convinced he’s going crazy and imagined everything, turning to Mark to confirm. “There were a bunch of men here, right? Who were they?”

“Oh!” Mark’s eyes light up in recognition. “Nobody. Just what’s left of a gang that Johnny disbanded.”

“Johnny that came with you that first class and never again?”

Mark laughs. “Yeah, that Johnny. Those guys were looking for him and I got caught up in it. He’s terrified of Joy though ( _aren’t we all, Donghyuck mutters, causing Mark to laugh harder_ ) - came across her on an assignment once and got traumatized or something. I never saw him use a spoon again.”

Donghyuck hums, resolving to annoy Joy into telling him about it later. “Hmm, okay. So I’m not going crazy and this is real life,” he says, taking out his switchblade and swinging it in his hands.

Mark’s eyes shine with amusement, raising his own fists in preparation. “This is real life,” he confirms, and kicks.

They go all out, and it’s liberating. No holds barred, no distractions, no pretenses - just an equal and honest exchange of raw skill, speed, and strength.

Mark is sharp angles and raw power, every move imbued with purpose and always following through with force. Donghyuck is smooth lines and graceful agility, steps flowing into each other like he’s dancing to an imaginary beat.

Their bodies swerve and sway and sidestep around each other, lunging forward and lurching away but never straying too far from each other’s orbit. Mark is straightforward in his assault and staunch in his defense, refusing to give up even an inch to Donghyuck’s unpredictable attacks. Mark has his unexpected (and frankly, impressive as hell) flexibility as his strength, and Donghyuck has his switchblade and natural rhythm.

Mark’s eyebrows furrow in concentration, gaze intense as he analyzes Donghyuck’s fighting pattern, predicting his next moves and intentions.

Little does he know that it’s wasted effort, however. Donghyuck is fighting to win, but his overall intention is much bigger than that - one that Mark would never be able to foresee.

Donghyuck dances and dodges, switchblade flying as freely as his feet, searching for gaps in Mark’s impeccable defenses. He swings wildly and jabs lightly, steadily testing the waters. He kicks, and flips, and even twists in midair, all while keeping his eyes peeled for an opening.

Finally, he sees it. As Mark backs away to sidestep Donghyuck’s own version of a roundhouse kick, his eyes widen and his hand whips up on instinct to snatch the switchblade out of the air, headed straight for his throat. He stares at it, stunned, and the small millisecond of hesitation is all Donghyuck needs.

Donghyuck lunges forward, grabs Mark’s collar aggressively, and hauls the other boy forward to press a firm kiss against his lips.

Mark squawks against his mouth in shock, dropping the switchblade. It hits the ground with a loud clang, and Donghyuck pulls back with a wet _pop!_ and sweeps Mark’s legs out from under him.

Mark gapes at him, eyes wide and mouth open in a surprised _oh_. All the tension has left his body, limbs loose with shock as he sprawls on the ground, Donghyuck’s switchblade forgotten by his side.

Donghyuck watches the other boy mouth at him wordlessly for a minute, looking like the big mouth billy bass he gifted Joy as a gag gift last Christmas, before deciding to take pity on him. “Well, I told you so.”

Mark snaps his mouth shut with an audible click, before stuttering. His cheeks are flushing prettily. “What?”

Donghyuck merely smirks, licking his lips slowly and relishing how Mark’s eyes snap to the movement, eyeing him dazedly. “I told you, didn’t I? If you win me over, you get me.”

The shock morphs into confusion. “I still don’t understand what you mean. You kissed me and then kicked me...so I lost the fight?” Mark wonders, voice raising at the end like he still can’t believe what happened.

Now Donghyuck laughs, the sound high and bright in the narrow alley and making Mark look even more dazed. “Silly, dorky boy” he says, smiling widely. “I never said _you_ had to win the _fight_ . I said _I_ had to win the fight - which I did. You are never again allowed to step foot into the studio as my student.”

He crouches down, so that he’s now eye level with Mark still sprawled on the ground, voice dripping with fondness. “Your deal was to win me over, which you did, months ago, maybe even the first time I ever saw your stupid face. So now I’m yours, and you’re mine, but not as my student.”

“I’m so confused.”

Donghyuck sighs, fake exasperated, and moves to cup his hand to Mark’s cheek. Mark gasps, lips parting, and Donghyuck takes the opportunity to move his thumb to brush softly against the other boy’s lips, touch gentle but heated. “Well, I can explain it to you in this dirty, dingy alley...” he leans closer, hovering right in front of Mark’s face, just like he did earlier in the evening, in almost this exact same place.

“Or you come back with me, and I’ll show you what I mean” he finishes suggestively, breath ghosting across Mark’s lips.

Mark grabs Donghyuck’s hand, moving it away from his face but not letting go. He grips it tightly, intertwining their fingers together, and tilts his head suggestively. “Teach me, Haechan,” he pleads, eyes burning with intensity. “Please.”

“Okay.” Donghyuck breaths, beaming, before surging forward. “But call me Donghyuck.”

____________________(ง •̀_•́)ง____________________

_Six months later_

“I can’t believe my hitman boyfriend is still trying to kill me.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you! You asked me to choke you harder!”

“Which you didn’t! And that’s what’s killing me.”

“I’m killing you by refusing to kill you?”

“You’re killing me by being too _good_.” Donghyuck whines, batting at Mark petulantly. “We have special talents - we should use them.”

Mark flinches away, slowing down to jog a few paces behind. “Ow, _ow_! Do we really have to wreck the house every time though? Can’t we just do it like normal people?”

“Kicking each other’s ass _is_ our normal. That’s how this whole thing started.”

“And I’d rather not end it with some freak accident.”

“The only freak accident here will be me hitting up Johnny very soon to complain about your vanilla ass if you don’t start bringing work into the bedroom. When will you realize that we _are_ Mr. and Mrs. Smith? Live up to your fullest potential!”

Mark rolls his eyes. “you’re such an insatiable little shit” he says, unfortunately coming out way too fond.

He gets a gleeful eyebrow wiggle in return. “That’s right baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me” Donghyuck purrs, turning around to shoot some decidedly-unsexy finger guns at Mark’s exasperated face. “Let’s save it for breaking in the new bed frame later” he says while sprinting up the stairs.

“Fourth one’s the charm” he sings loudly, flinging open the door.

And immediately crashes into a brick wall.

Except it’s not a brick wall. It’s Joy, donning her trademark unimpressed glower and crossed arms as she sizes up Donghyuck. “You’re late,” she sniffs, in what has become their standard greeting.

Donghyuck can’t help but smile, having heard that so often it’s become strangely endearing. “I had business to attend to.”

Mark chooses that moment to push in behind Donghyuck, panting a little from running up the stairs. He catches sight of Joy and ducks his head slightly, apologizing like the stereotypical overly-polite Canadian he is.

“Ah, and the ‘business’ is here as well” Joy remarks sarcastically, raising one eyebrow. Mark’s face scrunches in confusion and he turns to Donghyuck inquiringly but she’s already continuing, voice loud and carrying. “Next time, please make sure to attend to your business _earlier_.”

Mark’s eyebrows slowly rise, his mouth opening in understanding before he ducks his head again, embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Yeah, sorry,” Donghyuck echoes flatly, and Joy rolls her eyes.

“Anyway - come on,” she beckons, giving up and motioning for them to follow her. “We need to get started and we have some new students with us today.”

They drop their bags at the side before joining her in making their way into the studio. “So?” Donghyuck asks. “We always have new students, what’s so special about that?”

Joy huffs. “You’ll see,” she says cryptically, as though those two words explain everything. Donghyuck turns and is about to ask what the hell that means when something bright catches his eye.

He turns his head, looking towards the corner - the corner that he’s come to know so well, and is hit with a bout of dejavu so strong that he nearly stumbles.

Mark grips his hand, sharp senses detecting the minute change in Donghyuck’s demeanor, but Donghyuck is too distracted to answer his “what’s wrong?”

In the corner of the room ( _their_ corner), standing at least a foot taller than everyone else and dressed in matching tight athletic wear, are two guys looking as out of place as Johnny and Mark did a full year ago. Their shiny, artfully-styled platinum blond hair, slim but defined builds, and unsettling good looks would fit right in on an idol magazine. Objectively, they don’t look anything like the pair who’d stood in their very place all those classes ago (one half of the pair currently standing worriedly at his side), but strangely they give off the same vibe as being too striking to be real, sticking out like a sore thumb and looking like they’d been plucked right out of some prepubescent girl’s dreams.

They’re also both openly staring at Donghyuck, which only adds to the dejavu.

Mark squeezes his hand, and he jerks out of his thoughts. He looks down at their intertwined fingers, back up to Mark’s wide and worried eyes, and is instantly reminded of how he got a (somehow sweet and caring despite being a literal hitman) boyfriend attached to his hip the last time some unusually attractive and mysterious strangers showed up. It can’t be said that it happens often since it only happened once before, but the one time it happened it led to some overwhelmingly positive results. If experience is anything to go by, something tells him there must be more to these guys than meets the eye, and they are already _very_ easy on the eyes.

 _Well, it doesn’t matter_ , he thinks, shaking himself out of it as he returns Mark’s squeeze and watches the tension fade from the other boy. _My eyes, and everything else, are already taken_ . He turns to look at his boyfriend, lips stretching into a fond grin. Mark returns the smile, stars shining in his eyes as he reaches up to softly brush Donghyuck’s bangs out of his face. _If all that weird shit hadn’t happened last year, we wouldn’t be here now_ . _And if there’s any trouble, we’ll handle it - together._

 _We’re professionals, after all,_ he thinks, tilting his head and moving in closer.

A loud clearing of the throat stops them in their tracks and Donghyuck looks up to see Joy standing a few steps in front of them, looking back at them pointedly. She looks even more exasperated than normal, but there’s the telltale scrunch at the corner of her eyes. He grins back, shameless, as Mark blushes and reluctantly lets him go.

They walk forward, joining Joy at the front. She watches them approach and gives them one last meaningful look before turning away, addressing the large group of students huddled in front of them and launching into her usual welcome spiel. Honestly he bets that half the city can recite it word-for-word at this point.

He feels three pairs of eyes on him as she speaks: one curious, one assessing, and one full of love - a warm, familiar feeling from the constant, steady presence he’s grown used to (and loved) always having at his side in the past year.

One thing’s for sure - it’s gonna be an interesting class.

**Author's Note:**

> \- My one regret is not featuring more NCT characters T_T like I love the OT21 dynamic but some random cameos is the best my pea brain could do this time around sighhh
> 
> \- Me sneaking in Mark’s irl flexibility is just pure selfish interest idk why I find him doing the splits so attractive but it just is
> 
> \- If you made it this far, thank you for reading(!!!) and pray for NCT's Mr. and Mrs. Smith


End file.
